


Mother's meetings

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [20]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Gen Work, Gossip, M/M, Poison making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2749640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theron, Morrigan and Zevran find something to bond over and use as an excuse to gossip: poison making!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother's meetings

Alistair looked up from the cooking pot he was glumly stirring when he heard another raucous laugh from the other end of camp. Zevran really was still a Crow, in some respects.

Theron, Zevran and Morrigan were sitting in the shade just outside the witch’s shelter, and to someone who didn’t know them it seemed as if they were merely nattering - well, they were doing that as well...

 

“Can someone pass the deathroot?” Morrigan asked, looking up from the small pile of chopped plant she’d finished preparing already. Theron nodded, tossing a spare root of his own over.

“You know, I don’t know why we didn’t start this sooner.” The ranger mused.

“Yes, I have learnt so much.” Zevran nodded in agreement, leaning forwards slightly to check on the progress of the liquid bubbling away in a small pot hanging over Morrigan’s fire.

“Perhaps because I find your presence insufferable?” The witch suggested sweetly, not looking up as her knife flashed.

“True. And, I must admit that the idea of you making deadly poisons next to me was not exactly one I thought I would ever encourage.” The Antivan shrugged.

“I already know of five poisons I could have slipped into your food by now if I wished.”

“I am charmed to hear that. You would make a wonderful assassin, if only you had acted on that sooner.”

The Dalish elf smirked, pausing in bottling his own freshly brewed Adder’s Kiss.

“I know nine.” He chipped in with a casual shrug. “I like this; it reminds me a little of my clan, in a way. Sharing knowledge and resources like this.”

“Flemeth was a good teacher, but I think she would outstrip us all.”

“I’m not arguing with that.”

“Are there any corruptor agents left?” Zevran asked, frowning, and Morrigan handed one over.

“You owe me for that. So, did Oghren truly stumble into your tent last night? Even I heard that commotion.” She inquired, looking from one elf to the other.

Theron ducked his head with a low groan of embarrassment, and Zevran grinned widely.

“Thankfully, he seemed too drunk to realise what he had walked in on, or that we were not, in fact, a pair of lovely women.” The Antivan replied, looking towards the dwarf’s tent and wondering if he was still sleeping off his hangover, even though it had gone noon.

“Most embarrassing night of my life.” Theron mumbled, still trying to hide his blush.

“Correction: most embarrassing night of your life _so far_. I can imagine there will be many more in store for you with Zevran.” Morrigan disagreed.

“I am certain of it.” The blond teased, wishing he could move to sit closer to Theron, but now was not the time. “Anyway, I ended up having to get up at the most inconvenient point and… Turn him around and gently push him back out the tent. Quite a mood killer.” Zevran demonstrated with the half-full bottle of dark powder, holding it up with one hand and gently pushing it to one side with the other.

Theron was determinedly focused on ensuring he’d poured out _precisely_ the right amount of poison into each bottle, not daring to look up from the floor immediately in front of his crossed legs.

Zevran glanced over, and then in a fluid motion tipped the rest of the corrupter agent into the pot.

“Anyway, enough about our trials with the resident drunk and crude dwarf. Didn’t I see a wolf sniffing around camp while I was on watch early this morning?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at Morrigan knowingly.

The witch turned her head away slightly, narrowing her eyes as she deigned not to comment.

“Ah, I am only glad that you were not in fact lying about being able to change form, seeing how you have so far failed to use the skill in battle for whatever reasons you have. They are no doubt personal ones, ones that you would rather unman me than admit, no?” Zevran replied, waving the empty bottle around for effect.

Theron seemed to have recovered from his mortification; he looked up curiously at the witch, a very faint smirk on his face.

“Did anyone else hear Alistair snoring the other night?” The ranger asked, and Zevran nodded. “I couldn’t get to sleep; I ended up sitting up with Sten and discussing whether we should throw things at Alistair’s tent til he either woke or shut up, and debated how much damage we could cause by setting his tent on fire.” He sighed, looking rather happy at the memory of actually having a talk with Sten and agreeing on something.

“Are there any more flasks?” Morrigan asked, glancing at Zevran’s bubbling poison. “That has turned orange, twill be ready soon.” She advised. Zevran peered at the liquid curiously.

“No, I would say that is more of a peach colour, not orange.”

“You are more pretentious than Leliana. It is _orange_.” Morrigan insisted, shaking her head in a mixture of disgust and annoyance. "Peach." She huffed in a rather good approximation of Zevran's accent. Theron rolled his eyes, having actually paid attention to Morrigan’s question rather than the poison colour and noted there were no more flasks.

“I’ll go see Bodahn.” He sighed to the air as the other two started to bicker over whether the Soldier’s Bane was orange or peach in colouration.

He’d planned ahead at least, and before setting up and covering his hands with ingredients and poison he’d dropped his coin purse off at the dwarven merchant’s cart with enough silver for any ingredients they happened to run out of. He trusted the dwarf to only take out as much of the money as needed.

“Ah, hello.” The merchant smiled as the ranger approached, setting down his book. “Do you need more of those distillation agents?” He asked, already heading to the back of his cart to rummage around.

“Enchantment!” Sandal added enthusiastically.

“No, just some flasks. Five, just to be sure.” The Dalish elf responded, hearing the sounds of glass clinking. He was careful to not make prolonged skin contact with the dwarf as he accepted the flasks, just to be safe.

“Enchantment?” Sandal queried hopefully, and Theron shook his head.

“Not right now, but I think Alistair was considering a flame rune.”

With the purchase made, the ranger walked the short distance back to Morrigan’s shelter, carefully setting the bottles down next to Zevran.

“So, orange or peach?” He asked dryly as he sat back down and examined his batch of Adder’s Kiss.

“Orange.” Zevran informed him sulkily, reaching for one of the flasks already.

“It looks amber to me.” The Dalish elf teased, earning a scoffing sound from Morrigan.

“Bah, don’t you start as well!” The Antivan complained, scowling as he filled up the flask with the bright, warm concoction.

 

“What’s wrong?” Leliana asked, jolting Alistair from watching the other three party members.

“Oh, uh… Nothing. Nothing. Why?” He replied quickly, fooling no-one. The redhead sat down next to him.

“Your… Er… Stew, is it? It’s burning, whatever it is.” She pointed out helpfully, and the ex-Templar raced to save what he could of the evening’s meal.

“It’s just, the three of them sitting there, laughing and chattering like they’re in some kind of women’s embroidery ring. They’re making _poisons. Lethal_ poisons. I’m a bit wary that they’re so lax about it all.” He admitted, shaking his head.

“Still, they’re getting on so well, aren’t they?” The bard replied, watching the trio curiously. She’d never really been one for making poisons - it was just a little too time consuming for her to have taken seriously, but she admired the precision and attention to detail that the craft demanded. And some of the poisons were such interesting colours.

“I suppose…” Alistair reluctantly nodded. “But it still makes me feel a little uneasy. Laughing over deadly poisons and all.”

“Maybe it’s their idea of fun?”

That didn’t exactly help to ease Alistair’s mind.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was an excuse to put the three residents most likely to kill everyone else together and have them actually laughing together. Alistair's worried they're plotting world domination or something equally evil. Silly Alistair.  
> I totally didn't slip a Simpsons or Project Runway reference in there, nope not at all, what makes you think that?


End file.
